As I prepare for the Thanksgiving holiday, I am reminded of the autumnal harvest time's spiritual significance. As a time of connectedness, I pause to acknowledge what I have to be thankful for.
But I also reflect on the holiday as a time of remembrance—historical and familial.
My brother has been with his girlfriend for 6 months, and she’s spending Christmas with my family this year. My first thought was, Whoa. What the hell?! It’s not that I don’t like her. I do!
It’s only days until Christmas, and I, like many LGBT people, spent much of the day alternately dodging and engaging yet another "gays vs. Christians" media firestorm.
Even if you’ve never heard of him before, by now you’ve probably heard about Phil Robertson.
Each Thanksgiving and Christmas during college, I returned to the home of my childhood, the stable-turned-summer-cottage where my parents had begun their family together. My first chore on arriving would be to empty the Tupperware of refrigerated fuzz and discard the rolled oats webbed with meal moth larvae.
When I was a child, the run-up to Christmas was much more churchy than it is today. Every year we started an Advent calendar on December 1 with a picture of the holy family, the shepherds, the kings on camels, the star with glitter glued to it. We opened the doors day by day, so slowly, slowly, slowly from my child’s sense of time, revealing the messages and pictures behind the doors.